


The Whims of Fate

by Fallen_Night_Angel005



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassination, Dark Brotherhood Questline, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Graphic Description, M/M, Mages Guild, Necromancy, Other, Skyrim Main Quest, Slow Build, Slow To Update, Stormcloaks (Elder Scrolls), Tags Are Hard, Tags May Change, Thieves Guild
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:13:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27823546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallen_Night_Angel005/pseuds/Fallen_Night_Angel005
Summary: All Fyurri wanted was to join the Stormcloaks and fight along side King Ulfric. But when she finds out she is Dragonborn, her life is thrust into the path of destiny.  When the whole world's survival rests on the shoulders of one mortal, what is a Dragonborn to do?  Simple. She will do what she must, even if that means working with those she would rather purge.
Relationships: Brynjolf (Elder Scrolls)/Original Female Character(s), Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Ulfric Stormcloak, Muiri (Elder Scrolls)/Original Male Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	1. The Stormcloaks

**Author's Note:**

> This story is complicated so please forgive me if I delete/rework chapters. Also I tried to stay true to the lore rather than the in game play. As such cities are far larger than in game. The hold capitals are actual massive cities as they should be. Distances are far greater. For example a journey from Riften to Solitude would be about two weeks on horseback and that's without taking weather into consideration. Speaking of weather. Skyrim is supposed to have brutal unforgiving winters. So in my story it does. Basically everything shuts down during the winter and only the crazy or desperate would even think of travelling. Lastly if the archive warning wasn't enough there will be graphic scenes. THERE WILL BE SCENES OF TORTURE. THERE WILL BE SCENES OF RAPE. I will not shy away from the brutality a few character go through. I will warn you if the chapter contains these scenes so you can skip ahead if you want. I will also try to remember to do a summary of said chapters at the beginning of the following chapter as some of these scenes are vital for character development.

“Will you go out already? I want my septims.” Fyurri taunted. She took a sip of her ale and caught Ralof staring at her full lips. She enjoyed being the center of attention for once, but she hadn’t a clue what to do with it. She turned away from him checking her red locks to make sure the braids weren’t getting loose. The blond nord tossed his dice.

“Snake eyes!” Gunjar shouted. “Outs!” 

“Damn it all!” Ralof swore banging a fist on the table. 

Fyurri quickly scooped up her septims with a triumphant grin while she teased her friend. “Oh what a shame. It looks like I'll get all your pay again this week.” 

Yrsela grabbed the dice and tucked them into a small leather pouch. Her gruff raspy voice made her sound far older than she was. “As much as I would love to drain Ralof dry. It’s getting late and we have to leave in the morning.” 

"What?" Fyurri exclaimed. "You just got back. You have another assignment already?" 

"The imperials have been on the move and therefore so are we." Gunjar said. 

"Aye." Embrun agreed with brother. "I don't think it will be long now before this war really takes off." 

"Why do you say that?" Fyurri asked.

Yserla cut in speaking tersely. "We shouldn't say."

Fyurri ground her teeth as jealousy settled in her stomach. She sank back into her chair crossing her arms and openly sulked. “Let me guess, too secret and important to tell a measly guard?”

“It’s not like that.” Ralof soothed.

“Well, I mean it kind of is though.” Yrsela chimed in.

Ralof glared at her. Gunjar got to his feet with a groan. His shaggy red mane almost touching the low beams of the kitchen. “I’m not getting pulled into this shit again. Night.” He said over his shoulder as his broad frame disappeared out the door. 

“You’ll get your chance.” Embrun said. His soft clear voice rang like a bell from their little corner of the kitchen. It was a stark contrast to his brother's baritone. 

The lanterns were burning low while the cooking ovens had long gone cold. It was as if Fyurri had sucked all the mirth, warmth, and light from the kitchen. She couldn’t help it.

"Will I? I've been with the Stormcloaks for six months now, and the more I've been promoted the more boring it's gotten. All of you are out there risking your lives for our home. Fighting to rid Skyrim of those gods forsaken Thalmor. Getting to battle alongside King Ulfric! And me? I spend my days starring at a fucking wall while trying not to fall asleep." 

"You should be thankful." Yrsela sneered. "You get to spend every day in a nice warm, safe castle. You always have a bed to sleep in. Plus you're stationed in the throne room with a giant table full of food. You can stuff your face whenever you please." 

Fyurri snapped back. "First of all, that table is only set when King Ulfric is home which of course you wouldn't know since you ALWAYS travel with him. Second, I don't GET to eat at the King's table. Only YOU and the rest of the elite soldiers get that privilege. I get yelled at if I so much as LOOK at a fork!"

"Oh." Yserla said. She glanced down at her caulased hands looking truly chastised.

"I didn't join to be SAFE. I joined the Stormcloaks to make a difference. To make those Altmer bastards pay for all the suffering they've caused." Fyurri gulped down more of her ale, her fingers dug into the mug while she searched its smooth surface for answers. "I was meant to do more than stare at walls and give directions to lost dignitaries." 

"I didn't realize guarding my home was such torture. Perhaps I should try it on prisoners." 

Fyurri flew from her seat with a yelp, insticuially standing at attention as her fist met her heart in a salute. She squeeked, her throat suddenly dry and stuffed with stones. "Your Grace!" 

For there was no mistaking the deep silky voice that resonated through the kitchen. Ulfric Stormcloak stood leaning in the doorway wearing nothing but soft linen pants and a bathrobe left to hang open. The hard cut muscles of his arms bulged as he crossed them over his chest. A small grin tugged at one corner of his lips and amusement shone out of those glacier blue eyes. Fyurri saw her King on a nearly daily basis, and yet she was still intimidated and awed by the power that seemed to emanate from him. Even in his relaxed stance and dress the man was still imposing. He was an immovable force, one that demanded attention and respect. 

Only the sounds of booming laughter broke the hold Ulfric had on her. Ralof slapped the table with one hand while his face was buried in the crook of an arm. Yserla was bent over holding her stomach while her short brown hair fell over her face. Embrun's head was thrown back, his chortles blasting the ceiling. Heat bloomed across Fyurri's face. She was sure she was red up to her ears. She huffed irritated at her friends' reactions. They were in the presence of their King! They should act accordingly! 

Ralof lifted his head from his elbow. "You should see your face!

Ulfric's small grin spread into a full toothed smile and he chuckled. _Ulfric is laughing at me!_ Fyurri found her arm sagging down from the salute as her bewilderment turned into shame though she knew not what she had done wrong. She abruptly sat even though the King didn't give her leave to. _Since proper protocol has suddenly gone out the fucking window!_ She balled her hands into fists as her friends’ laughter continued. _I'm going to break all of your faces!_ She stuck her nose up at them defiantly. 

Ulfric entered the room. His eyes bore into her while his lips pushed up the corners of his neatly trimmed beard. There was a question in those eyes and they dug deeper into her searching for an unknown answer. She was convinced he was reading her every thought. 

"That is enough." He stated with a wave of his hand. He spoke neither soft nor loud yet his voice still owned the room. It cut through the laughter and silenced it as surely as a dagger across their throats. His attention finally moved on from Fyurri and she let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. Ulfric strolled to the pantry his stride the very embodiment of confidence and purpose. He began digging through the shelves.

"Do not underestimate the value of guard duty young shieldmaiden. Such a task may not ever be recorded in history or sung about by bards……" Ulfric paused as he turned back to face them holding an apple and a large sweet roll. His penetrating gaze returned to Fyurri. "But it is because of you that we all have a safe place to rest our heads." 

"Because of me." Fyurri repeated his words hollowly. "Forgive me your Grace, but I don't believe that. Not when those who would see you harm aren't even in Windhelm." 

Ulfric disappeared from Fyurri’s view. She wanted to turn so she could continue to get glimpses of that partially exposed chest, but she didn’t. She had already embarrassed herself enough for one night. He was way beyond her league of course, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t admire the man who had been seemingly chiseled from stone. She almost jumped out of her skin as Ulfric reappeared beside her and sat on the bench with the apple and sweet roll now on a plate. A small knife was tucked in his fist, the flat of the blade resting against his wrist. She quickly scooched over to make room for him, but Yserla didn’t budge so instead she was crammed between the two. Ulfric spread his legs as men tend to do causing his thigh to rub up against hers. _Why do men do that? Their balls don’t need that much room!_ Heat bloomed in both her face and groin. She felt her heart trying to flutter out of its cage. 

The King seemed utterly oblivious to their thighs contact, let alone the effect it was having on the freckled redhead beside him. Ulfric’s voice pulled her mind away from the sinful thoughts that had started to bloom. “And why would my enemies stay out of Windhelm if not for all the brave men and women who would gladly defend the city from such foes?” 

"You're right of course your Grace. It's just….." Fyurri’s words stuck in her throat. She didn't want to keep complaining, especially to Ulfric. She suddenly felt unworthy to look him in the eye so she watched as he cut off a chunk of apple and brought it to his lips. His hands were well worn, aged with lines and scars yet still strong and battle hardened. She muttered, "Sorry." 

"It's just you were meant for more than staring at walls and giving directions to lost dignitaries." Ulfric quoted. Fyurri nodded still looking at the King's hands until the one holding the knife set it down and ever so gently grabbed her chin. He lifted it up forcing her to look him in the eye. "You are a woman of action. A true warrior yearning for battle. Do not apologize for that." 

His finger lightly rubbed the underside of her chin before he pulled away. Her skin tingled where his fingers had lingered and she couldn't help but notice how close his face was to hers. Close enough that she could see the smattering of silver throughout his sandy blond hair. Close enough that they could kiss.... 

Ulfric closed his eyes with a sigh freeing Fyurri from the spell he had enraptured her with. She shifted uncomfortably feeling awkward once more. _What am I supposed to say? What do you do when sitting next to THE KING?_

Ralof cleared his throat. "If we're going to keep sitting here let's at least get back to Hazard." 

"Forgive me." Ulfric said. "I did not mean to interfere in your gambling." 

“You didn’t sir.” Yserla replied. “We were getting ready to call it a night anyway.”

Ulfric cut a sliver of apple and offered it to Fyurri. She wasn't hungry, but she still took it mumbling a thank you as she ate it. Embrun asked Ulfric, "Do you think the Imperials will try to take back the fort?" 

"It would be a foolish task, so yes, I believe they will try." The King replied. The stormcloaks laughed. 

Fyurri listened intently assuming they were speaking of their last mission. She was still surprised by how casual the soldiers were toward the King. _They’re not even addressing him properly._ As the conversation turned to stories of their escapades she began to see why Ulfric allowed such transgressions. Her friends were his most trusted warriors. Men and women who had fought and bled for him. Soldiers that he had stood beside in battle. They were his shield siblings, and Fyurri wanted nothing more than to be a part of their ranks. 

Ulfric finished his apple and moved on to tearing off bits of the sweet roll. He continued to share his midnight snack with Fyurri. At first she wondered why since he wasn't offering anything to the others, but then she saw the meaning. Fyurri was silent through the whole conversation. She couldn’t share in their stories so instead Ulfric shared his meal. This little gesture to ensure she was included only made her love him more. He was a King who cared about his people, who wanted the best for Skyrim. _How can the Jarls in the west be against him?_

Fyurri squealed when suddenly Yserla slid out of the bench. Fyurri had been leaning on her in an attempt to give the King as much room as possible, as such she nearly fell over. She quickly composed herself only to see Ulfric watching her from the corner of his eye. Amusement dancing once again within his deep blue eyes. Yserla gave Ulfric a quick nod. "G'night, sir." 

Fyurri quickly scooched over, the empty space felt almost chilly compared to the warmth of Ulfric. She reached for her mug except that it was Yserla's mug in front of her and it was empty. Her mug was sitting in front of Ulfric. She wasn't about to lean over and take it. The King had commandeered it whether he meant to or not.

"Are you skipping your guard duty?" Ulfric asked her. His brows had furrowed, deepening the slight wrinkles of his forehead. 

"No your Grace." Fyurri stammered. "I would never!" 

"Then why do you keep looking at me as if I'll eat you alive?" 

She didn't realize that she had been starring. Again. She blushed. Again! She quickly looked away to find Ralof watching her. His face was completely neutral and yet there was fire in those normally kind eyes. His lips were drawn tight. She looked around the table to see that only the three of them remained. Sometime during the conversations Embrun had left without her noticing.

"What is your name shieldmaiden?" The King asked.

"Fyurri your Grace." She answered only to be greeted by silence until she realized that he was waiting for a full name. She quickly said. "Fyurri of Dawnstar. I suppose." 

"You suppose?" 

"I grew up in Dawnstar, but I wasn't born there. And after my sister died…. Well, Dawnstar stopped feeling like home." 

"I'm sorry for your loss. Do you not have other family there?" 

"It's….. complicated." Fyurri said.

"Fyurri doesn't like talking about her life before joining the Stormcloaks." Ralof said. 

"I can speak for myself." She retorted.

"I know you can. That doesn't mean I can't defend you." 

"I don't want you too." Fyurri said flatly.

"What is wrong with me wanting to protect you?" He asked defensively.

"Am I attacking her, Ralof?" Ulfric asked, a dark undertone infussing in his voice. "Or are YOU feeling threatened?" 

_Threatened? By who?_ Her ligjt green gaze flitted between the two men sitting across from one another. Ralof glowered at Ulfric like a wolf sizing up a bear, and like a bear, Ulfric seemed completely indifferent to the lone wolf. The King's voice held a growl and there was a finality to his words. "I do believe it is past time for you to take your leave, Ralof. You do after all have an important task come morn." 

Ralof bristled. He looked over at her and then back to Ulfric before sliding off the bench. His tone was short. “Aye that I do. Night.”

Ralof was almost to the door when Ulfric spoke. "Ralof, aren't you forgetting something?" 

The blond nord turned back with a question in his eyes. There was an uncomfortable energy in the room as the men regarded each other. Ralof gave the king a stiff salute and grumbled, “G'night, your Grace.” before stomping out the room. His heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor. 

"Why did you demand a salute from him and not the others?" Fyurri asked after several minutes of awkward silence. 

"A lesson needed to be learned." Ulfric stated. He popped the rest of the sweet roll in his mouth and said around it. "He speaks of you often."

"Does he?" She asked. She wasn’t thrilled with the news , but she couldn’t say she was surprised by it. 

"Quite. From the way he speaks of you I assume you're lovers." 

"I would sooner make love to a horker!" Fyurri barked.

Ulfric let out a booming laugh. The rich tone and mirth was contagious; Fyurri couldn't help but laugh with him. Ulfric wiped a tear from an eye and said. "I see you don't share his sentiment." 

She answered honestly. "I'm not sure how I feel about Ralof. We joined the Stormcloaks together and have been friends ever since. I’m not sure I want more than that. At least not from him." 

"Are you unsure or unwilling to admit how you truly feel?" Ulfric mused.

Fyurri groaned loudly. "Lay off will you? The last thing I want to do is talk about Ralof." 

“Fair enough.” Ulfric said warmly. He grabbed the mug before him and sucked down the rest of Fyurri’s ale. He peered at it curiously as if unsure of where it came from. “Was this yours?” 

Fyurri giggled. “Emphasis on was.” 

Ulfric turned toward her and leaned forward as if to whisper a secret. Once again she was mesmerized by how deep of a blue his eyes were. His thin lips held a playful smile. He said warmly. “Then allow me to bring you another.”

“You don’t need to do that, your Grace.”

“I know. But I would like to.” The King winked at her before rising from the bench and returning a few minutes later with a mug in each hand. To her secret delight he once again sat beside her. Not close enough to brush their legs together but closer than they had been after she slid away. He lifted his mug up. “A toast to you my fearless, fiery guard, and to all my stormcloaks who selflessly protect those who call Windhelm home.” 

They drank together until the early hours of the morning. Ulfric spoke to her of his dreams and hopes for the future, his fears of what the war to come will cost Skyrim, and his worries about the Aldmeri Dominion. Fyurri mainly listened until the ale loosened her tongue and she indulged her King with stories of her childhood and the trouble she often got into.

She was halfway through a tale of hiding a live snake in her mother’s nightstand when the last lanturn winked out. Fyurri shrieked and then giggled at herself as the room suddenly went pitch black. Ulfric wrapped an arm around her back protectively. “What happened to my fearless shieldmaiden?” He asked, his breath ghosted her ear and tickled her neck. She giggled again. 

“Did you lose me?” She asked. “We better gather a search party.”

Fyurri tried to stand, but she got caught on the table and almost fell off the bench. Luckily, Ulfric still had a hand on her and he pulled her into his arms. He laughed low in his throat and she felt it rumble through his chest. She could feel his heat through her tunic and it caused her to feel aroused once more. She wished she could have stayed like that forever tucked safely in Ulfric's embrace and shut away from the rest of the world. She could hear the amusement in his voice as he said. “You’re an utter lightweight aren’t you.”

“I’m not drunk!” She exclaimed. “It’s just dark. You’re drunk!”

“Hardly.” Ulfric scoffed. “Though, I do believe this is our cue to go to bed.”

The King helped Fyurri to her feet much to her dismay, and the two blindly made their way through the kitchen and down the servants hall. Ulfric stopped them once they reached a part of the corridor that was lit. He had kept an arm wrapped around Fyurri’s waste, and she silently sulked when he pulled away. 

“This is where we part.” Said the King. “Thank you for the company tonight. I haven't laughed this much in years.”

He looked down at her fondly and Fyurri wanted nothing more than to close the gap between them and kiss him. She didn’t dare of course, though she wouldn’t have been able to anyway with how tall he was compared to her. Even if she stood on her toes she wouldn’t have been able to reach those lips unless he bent down to her. _Gods! Even for a nord he’s tall!_

“I’m sorry for keeping you up so late.” She said. "Especially before your journey tomorrow.” 

Ulfric’s demeanor abruptly took on an air of seriousness. His hand came up to his face where he lightly bit the tip of his thumb and gazed out into the hallway in deep compilation. “Strange. I wasn’t aware I was going on a journey. I shall have to speak with Galmar about the oversight.”

Fyurri was taken aback by the change in the King. “But the assignment tomorrow.” 

His lips twitched in an effort to hide a smirk.“You tease!” She accused and lightly smacked his stomach. Ulfric chuckled bringing his hands up to defend himself from her onslaught. Fyurri gasped and quickly clamped her hands over her mouth in horror. “Stendarr’s Mercy! I just struck my King!”

Ulfric burst out laughing. “I promise not to tell.” He cupped her cheeks and brought his head down to hers. Fyurri's heart began to race and she found herself holding her breath. _Is this really happening?_ He ever so gently laid a kiss on her forehead. _Of course not, you idiot._

“Good night Fyurri, beautiful fearless shieldmaiden of Skyrim.” He said softly.

He disappeared into the darkness.

Fyurri was left standing alone in the hallway bewildered by what had transpired. Ulfric had dubbed her ‘of Skyrim’. More astonishing was that he had called her beautiful. That word ached deep in her chest for she knew it couldn't be true, and she desperately wanted it to be. 


	2. A Voice of Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a mysterious voice starts rambling in Frealan's head he decides to silence it. By any means necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really short, but I didn't want to add in filler.

It was a perfect night. Not a single cloud shrouded the heavens leaving the stars scintillating in all their glory. Frealan basked in the magical starlight raining down on Mundis while Masser and Secunda slowly glided through the sky. Both the moons were full, lighting up the mortal plane enough that the Breton could almost make out colors. Not even the slightest breeze ruffled the trees or broke the silence. The night was perfect, and Frealan was furious. 

Months of planning had been ruined. A black soul gem hidden within a breast pocket warmed his skin, reminding him of the ritual he had abandoned. It only added more frustration to the already aggravated mage. Years of research cast aside all because of a mysterious voice nagging at him within his own skull. 

**Kill Grelod. Kill Grelod. Kill Grelod the Kind.**

_I fucking know! Shut the fuck up!_

Frealan clawed at his hair and shook himself. He dug his palms into his eyes. The voice in his head that was obviously not his own had been tormenting him for almost two months. It had started out as a slight whisper so quiet he wasn't sure it was there. But by the gods did it get loud! The voice pestered him like a nagging grandmother. _Fucking sounds like one too._ He would have thought his mother had finally died and was now pestering him in the afterlife except the voice was not his mothers. 

**You have always been my child.**

_Get out of my head. If you don't stop I'll fucking kill myself before the bitch dies! Is that what you want?_

**Kill Grelod the Kind.**

_I'm working on it!_

Frealan wrapped himself in an invisibility spell and cautiously made his way to the orphanage. It had taken him far too long to discover the identity of this Grelod bitch. The journey to Riften had been arduous thanks to the berating voice. He was eager to free himself from this torture, but not eager enough to get sloppy. Guards in Riften were frequent and diligent thanks to the thieves guild. He wouldn't risk floating in the canal like the poor fool currently lying bloated and pale in the pillars of a pier.

He waited till the guard was well on his way down the road before he gently laid his fingertips on the door to the orphanage. He pressed a spell into the door causing his invisibility to break. He had to be quick. After a few seconds he felt the lock click open. He silently slipped inside. 

To say the orphanage was rundown was an understatement. The place was downright barren. Nothing hung from the walls and there was only a single table. The windows were small and covered with thin sheets of animal horn. Luckily the beautiful night still provided enough light for the mage to see. With a flick of his wrist he wove a muffle spell over his feet. It would silence his steps but he was still careful with his footing.

He could sense all the little lives enjoying their slumber. He would do everything in his power to ensure they stayed that way. It didn't take him long to find the old crone. There were only four rooms with the large main hall acting as a barracks for the children. Grelod's room was on the far side of the place forcing him to sneak by all the brats. He would have been able to find the hag easily enough even if he wasn't a necromancer attuned to the caress of souls. Grelod's snoring could wake the dead. _How do the little shits sleep through this?_

He inched closer to her bed while he delicately pulled an ebony dagger free from its sheath buried deep in his robes. His other hand began to glow with another spell. Frealan had perfected silent casting years ago, but there was nothing he could do about the slight purple glow forming around his left hand. He shielded the light as best he could before ever so gently laying the spell over Grelod.

She awoke with a snort. The Breton clamped a hand over her mouth and drove his dagger between her ribs and into her heart. Grelod faught more than he expected for an old crone. She grabbed his arm trying to push his hand off her face. _There is a hole in your heart. You're not living through this._ She kicked wildy. He plunged the dagger into an eye and wiggled it around in her brain until she stopped moving. A ghostly blue aura swirled about her corpse before being sucked into one of his empty black souls gems. The gem grew warm and Fraelan swore he could feel it humming with pleasure as it captured the soul. _Atleast I get some fucking use out of this._ The mage cleaned his blade on her blankets before tucking it into the depths of his dark blue robes. He had leaned on her holding her down as she fought so now his robes were soaked in her blood. _Great, I’m never going to get this stain out._ He turned to leave and froze. 

A little boy no older than eight was standing in the doorway. _Well shit._ He had never killed a child before, but there was a first time for everything. _I wonder if his little soul would fully fill a black soul gem…._

**You are a delight.**

Frealan almost roared, but choked on his rage before it broke free. _Why. The fuck. ARE YOU. STILL IN MY HEAD!_

The little boy spoke with wonder. "You killed Grelod."

Frealan slowly approached the boy while he reached for his dagger. He pushed all emotions aside. He doubted the child could see his shadowed face hidden deep in his hood, but he wouldn't risk it. He reached striking distance and to his utter surprise a grin split the little boy's face in two. 

The child threw himself at the mage hugging his legs tight while he shrieked. "Aventus did it! Grelod's dead!" 

Frealan tore the boy off of him, but before he could silence the tiny human, more of them sprouted from the shadows like nightshade around a grave. They shrieked and giggled dancing in delight at the death of their caretaker. _What in Tamriel? Did I die and end up in the Shivering Isles?_ He pulled his hood further over his face as some of the children lit candles and lanterns. A few of the girls held hands while they skipped and danced in a circle around him. Many of the boys were whooping and jumping about like enraged trolls. The bewildered Breton stared dumbfounded, unsure as to what to do. A single child was one thing, but he wasn't going to butcher a whole orphanage. 

A young pretty woman in a pale yellow nightgown appeared. She took one look at Frealan and shrieked. The mage acted more on instinct than anything; An illusion spell erupted from his hands and chaos ensued. The fear spell swept over the gaggle of children and their screams reverberated through the building. Frealan bolted past the crying and hysterics and through the front door. He dove into a bush moments before three guards arrived, swords in hand. The wails within the rickety old building could be clearly heard from the streets. More guards arrived, and they rushed into the orphanage.

Frealan cloaked himself in an invisibility spell, but his escape was painstakingly slow. He skittered from one shadow to the next careful not to move when someone was near lest they see the distortions from his spell. He had to recast the invisibility twice before he made it to the southern gate of the city. Thankfully the gate was still open, but he knew it would only be a matter of time before they closed down the city to search for the murderer.

He thought about casting a frenzy spell on the guards to get them to attack each other but dismissed the idea. He was already sweating profusely and felt weak from casting such powerful magics in a short period. _I'd rather not drain myself too much. Plus if I make a scene they'll know exactly which gate I escaped through._ The Breton resorted to creeping along the wall until he noticed that the guard closest to him was asleep. Frealan made a dash to freedom. 

He didn't stop running until he was almost a mile from the city where he zigzagged through the aspen forest for several more miles before collapsing in the center of his camp. He hadn't stayed inside the city for fear of leaving his things behind should he have to flee. _Looks like my paranoia paid off._ Once he stopped breathing gales he sat up only to realize that his camp had been looted while he was gone. His books lay scattered about the leaf litter. His food and gold were gone of course as well as his satchel full of ingredients he needed for his ritual. His horse was missing. Even his nice set of enchanted silk robes and fox fur cloak that he had tucked away in a log a good fifty feet from his camp were gone. _It had taken me a week to enchant that set……._

**Do not fret. You have made your father proud.**

Frealan sank back to the ground, a small chuckle escaping past his dry lips. He asked between giggles. "Why are you still here?" 

**Your soul reached out for the void. I answered. This is only the beginning, my child.**

 _Fucking course._ Frealan began to laugh louder. He couldn't help it. He lay flat on the ground, his arms and legs spread out as if he were a sacrifice while he laughed up at the stars. _Those little shits were celebrating._

"I murdered some random old crone because a voice in my head told me to." It sounded so absurd when he said it out loud. His laughing continued to grow both in volume and zeal. _I gave up years of planning for nothing. The bitch is still in my head._ His carmel eyes glistened as tears began to form. His sides ached and still he lay on the ground cackling up at the heavens.


	3. The Starling and the Magpie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyvairi Nightvale never wanted to be in Riften. She hadn't truly wanted to go to Skyrim or be a bard either. She certainly never considered being a thief.....Yet here she is.

_She's good._ Brynjolf thought as he studied the Bosmer bard out the corner of his eye. She had given up singing after it became obvious that no one in the Bee and Barb was going to pay her for her services. She still played her lute on occasion, but she wouldn't make a living as a bard in this city. Bryn had a feeling she knew that. The little wood elf was currently in a conversation with Bolli, the owner of the fishery. Bryn was too far away to hear their conversation, but her demeanor was one of playful flirtation and sincere curiosity. Bryn wasn't fooled; it was a ruse.

The bard's long slender fingers that had skillfully plucked at her lute strings were now lifting a coin purse from the business man's pocket. With a slight flick of her wrist the purse vanished into thin air. Brynjolf smiled to himself. _She's almost too good._ Bryn doubted that Bolli had even felt her touch. Now that the Bosmer had what she wanted, it wasn't long before she feigned insult and left Bolli to sulk.

The Bosmer settled down at the bar. She carried a pack with her that never left her sight. Her lute was carefully tied to it and a quiver and bow were strapped to her back. She was smart enough not to leave her belongings in her room. Locked doors did not mean safety in a city owned by thieves. _Clever and cautious._

Brynjolf decided to make his move. He strutted up beside the wood elf and leaned with his back to the bar. She gazed up at him with large almond shaped eyes that sparkled like polished rhodolite. She had the typical angular features of most mer, high cheekbones, small chin, long pointy nose, but her edges were soft especially compared to an Altmer. Her thin arching eyebrows scrunched down in suspicion. 

"Looking a little light in the pockets, lass." The auburn haired Nord said.

Her thin lips spread into a playful smile. She asked. "How can you possibly know what's in my pockets?" 

Bryn returned her smile with his own sly lopsided grin. "The way they walk. What they're wearing….." he looked her up and down. Her wool dress was forest green and reached down to her slippered toes. It was neither rich nor ragged. The dress complimented her walnut skin and raven black locks. He returned his gaze to hers. "It's a dead give away." 

She had freshly healed scars on the left side of her face. Two large draw cuts ran across her cheek. One started just under her eye while the other jumped across her nose. A third smaller cut slid across her lips to the side of her chin. Bryn guessed the scars to be from a lynx or perhaps a very young sabre cat. He wasn't foolish enough to remark about them. Most lasses were self conscious of such things. 

"So my clothes tell you I'm poor?" The bard asked.

Brynjolf laughed sheepishly and scratched at the back of his neck. "No, not at all, lass. They tell me you're a performer." 

"I figured my lute did that." She scoffed. She turned her attention to her drink, a dark wine. _Smooth Bryn, real smooth._

"To business then." Brynjolf said. He leaned in to whisper in her ear. He noticed how her hand never strayed far from the dagger belted on her hip. "I couldn't help but notice the hefty donation that Bolli unknowingly provided." 

Her garnet eyes locked onto his own steel grey stare. It was the only outer sign of her unease. Bryn quickly continued. "Don't get me wrong lass. I admired your work. In fact, I believe your clever fingers would be a benefit to my organization."

Her sweet honeyed voice rang with a melodic laugh as if the starling were going to burst into song. "You must be Brynjolf." She said. "Maul told me about you." 

"And you must have a lot of talents if you were able to get Maul to loosen his tongue." 

She hissed at him."I didn't fuck him, if that's what you're implying." 

Brynjolf winced. Right before his eyes the little starling morphed into a coiled viper ready to strike. Bryn sighed and ran his hand through his shaggy hair. _I'm off my game tonight._ "That's not what I meant, and before you ask that's not what my business is about."

"Not interested." Her honeyed voice now dripped venom. 

The Nord ground his teeth. Even he had been botching jobs lately, but it had been years since he had failed so thoroughly with a lass. Still he knew a catch when he saw one. He pressed her. "Here's my offer. Meet me at my stall in the marketplace come morn, do a little job for me, and I can promise you a larger cut then whatever is in here." 

He lifted up Bolli's coin purse and shook it infront of her face. The bard's large eyes grew larger and she felt at her brown leather bodice for the purse that wasn't there. She glowered at him and tried to snatch it from his hand. He laughed, pulling the purse away and gripped it tight. The elf pouted. Brynjolf winked at her and walked away. 

  
  


~`~`~`~`~`~`~

  
  
  


Tyvairi growled to herself as she stormed off from Grelka's stall. _That damn merchant's prices were outrageous!_ The elf needed a new bowstring and her boots were getting worn out. Not to mention she had to somehow pay Keerava for another week at the inn. _Damn that Brynjolf. I would have had the coin if he didn't steal that purse from me last night_. She was wearing her hide armor now, but her hand still went to where the bottom of her bodice had rested. She couldn't fathom how the man had gotten the purse free without her feeling it. Her guard had been up, yet he still wormed his way around it. She was mildly impressed as much as she hated to admit it. 

The Bosmer glanced over to Brynjolf who stood at his stall on the other side of the marketplace. The auburn haired Nord wore the same blue quilted clothes from last night. They looked wrong on him. There was too much muscle under those padded merchant’s clothes. A curvy blonde woman was at Brynjolf’s stall. Tyvairi could tell even from this distance that Bryjnolf was wrapping her around his finger. He was charming with the square masculine features that human men were known for. The problem was Brynjolf knew he was attractive. Men like that were always trouble. 

Brynjolf handed the Nord woman one of the large vials he was hawking. The woman passed him some septims and then whispered in his ear while laying her free hand on his chest. _A seductress. What is that seducer going to do about her?_ Whatever she had said left the man gaping like a fool. His head jerked back and he blinked several times. Once he came back to his senses he gave her a sheepish grin and gingerly peeled her hand from his chest. Tyvairi giggled to herself. _I guess I’ll go save him._

“Ah. Another customer!” Brynjolf exclaimed as Tyvairi approached. “Sorry Haelga, we’ll have to talk another time.” He said to the blonde Nord. 

“Think about it.” Haelga replied before sniffing her nose up at the elf. 

Haelga sauntered off and Brynjolf let out a long sigh while rubbing the back of his neck. “I owe you one lass.”

Tyvairi chuckled. “You could give me my coin back and call it even. What did she say to you anyway?” 

“It wasn’t your coin, and I don’t want to think about what Haelga proposed.” 

“What? Tall curvy Nords aren’t your type?” The Bosmer bard asked.

“She’d be right up my alley if she were…...cleaner.”

“That’s ironic. The word around town is that your people live in the sewers.”

“Aye, but the sewers are cleaner than that lass.” Bryn scratched at the patch of beard on his chin. “So you figured out what my business is all about. Have you decided to take me up on my offer?” 

Tyvairi had been debating the deal all night. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be a professional thief. She also didn’t want to be stuck in Riften, but at the moment she had nowhere else to go. Her original plan had been to enroll in the Bard’s College, in Solitude, but for that she needed money. The elf didn’t want to winter in Riften; It was a hell of a lot better than spending winter in the wilds again. Tyvairi absently sucked her lip into her teeth and chewed on the scar. _I won't underestimate another Skyrim winter…. I suppose I could always do a few jobs for Brynjolf and then leave after I’ve saved up._

“What exactly do you want me to do?” Tyvairi probed. “And wipe that smug grin off your face. I still haven’t agreed to anything.” 

“But we both know you will. I want you to take Medesi’s ring out of his lock box and slip it into Brand Shei’s pocket. Without anyone noticing.” Brynjolf said as he nodded at an Argonian and then a Dunmer. “I’ll create a diversion, but you’ll still need to keep an eye out for guards.”

“I’m not very good at picking locks. I would be better at creating a distraction while you take care of the lock box.”

“I’m not the one being tested lass.”

“Test? You said this was a job.” Tyvairi growled. 

“It’s both. I want to see what you’re made of.”

“I don’t have anything to pick a lock with.”

Brynjolf pinched the bridge of his nose before running his hand up through his hair. He fished through a pocket and after he was certain no one was looking he passed her three lockpicks. He muttered clearly annoyed. “A real thief always has lockpicks.”

“I’m a bard.” Tyvairi said flatly.

He ignored the statement. “I won’t be able to distract them forever. Let me know when you’re ready and we’ll get started.”

The Bosmer placed her pack and helmet on the ground within Brynjof’s stall. She pointed to it. “If my lute is broken or if anything is missing when I come back you’ll find an arrow in your knee.”

The Nord gave her a wicked smile. “Relax lass. I won’t rummage through your things with a crowd staring right at me.” 

“That doesn’t stop magpies. ” She retorted before vanishing into the marketplace.

Tyvairi waited until the crowd was enraptured by Brynjolf’s silver tongue before she dipped behind Medesi’s stall. Her experience with picking locks was limited to say the least. Her hands started sweating before she even put the pick in the lock. It felt like an eternity that she fumbled with the lock before she felt a click and she silently slid the door open. She glanced around. _That took way too long. I need to be faster._ The lock on the lockbox was harder. Her anxiety firmly planted a stone in her throat as she struggled with it. She tried to force it open and with a quiet tink, the lockpick snapped. She cursed under her breath and double checked to make sure no one had spotted her. Tyvairi wiped her hands on her pants before pulling out another lockpick. A new Kalpa Cycle had started before she got the damn thing open. A thrill went up her spine as the lid popped open and glittering jewels and gold greeted her. She snatched up everything in the box cramming it under her armour. There was only one ring in the box so she carefully placed it in a pocket. 

Tyvairi crept out from behind the stall and perused over to Brand Shei while pretending to be curious about Brynjolf’s ‘Falmer Blood Elixir’. She passed Grelka’s stall and paused. A wicked smile spread across her lips and she slowly sank behind the stall. The elf was quickly running out of time but she couldn’t resist. Dumb luck was on her side for she popped the sliding door open on her first try. Inside was a strongbox and some gear including a nice pair of leather boots. She didn’t bother with the lockbox. She grabbed the boots, replaced them with her worn out ones and hastily slipped her new boots on. She snatched some bowstring and some orcish arrows jamming it all in her quiver. She snagged an elvish dagger slipping it into her boot and then pinched a silver bracelet for good measure. She slid it onto her wrist and finally crept over to Brand Shei. 

A stack of crates rested by the Dunmer’s stall giving her plenty of cover from the crowd. The bard was out of time. The crowd was already throwing jeers at Brynjolf. A few were leaving. Tyvairi yanked the ring out and delicately slid the trinket into the Dunmer’s pocket. Brand Shei stood.

A chill swept up her spine and she suppressed a shriek. Tyvairi dove out from behind the stall and stumbled onto her feet. The sudden movement caught the eye of a guard. The elf kicked a rock throwing curses at it as if she tripped. She sauntered out of the market. She didn’t look back. It would be too suspicious, but luckily the guard didn't follow her. Tyvairi’s heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her ears. She was covered in stolen goods and it wouldn’t take the vendors long to realize they had been robbed. For all her effort she couldn’t get herself to relax. She felt like she had a sign on her back that said ‘I have all your stolen shit!’ She couldn’t go back to Brynjolf.

Instead she forced herself to walk normal. She picked a street and sauntered down it trying to appear as an innocent newcomer exploring the city. She had plundered plenty of pockets since leaving Valenwood, but she had never ransacked businesses. It had been…… exhilarating. A strong heavy arm rested itself across her shoulders. She jumped with a squeal her whole body bristling. 

“Relax, lass. It’s me.” Brynjolf said reassuringly. All her tension melted. It was over and she had gotten away with her spoils. She giggled gleefully and looked up at the Nord. Brynjolf towered over her. The top of her head didn’t even reach his collarbone. _I never felt short until I came to Skyrim._ She was happy to see her pack slung over his shoulder and her helmet in his hand. 

He looked down at her with an amused twinkle in his eyes. “Looks like I chose the right person for the job.”

The two meandered through the streets looking to all the world like a couple out for a stoll. They walked in silence and the bard wondered if this was to give her time to compose herself. Brynjolf led her down a path behind a row of manors. This part of the city was on dryland instead of built on stilts within the lake. The houses were large and though they weren’t beautiful, they were nicer than the rest of the city. They passed the Temple of Mara and ended up near a shrine of Talos across from the graveyard. 

The place was quiet with no one around but a wandering guard. Tyvairi asked. “Why is it so empty over here?”

“Because the graveyard is haunted. Folks see phantoms that flicker in and out of the cemetery. Often you can hear the grating of stone rubbing on stone. Rumors say it’s Draugr trying to free themselves from their crypts." Brynjolf said.

Tyvairi rolled her eyes, but felt uncomfortable when Brynjolf stopped in front of the graveyard. “So lass, what do they call you?”

It hadn’t dawned on her that he still didn’t know her name. She replied. “Tyvairi Nightvale.” 

“A pleasure Tyvairi. You know who I am of course, but you can call me Bryn if you like.” He said as he let her go and passed her things to the elf. He pulled out a coin purse from an inner pocket of his coat and passed it to her. “Your payment as promised. Using your chance to go after Grelka was a nice touch. You did the job well. There’s more where that came from…… if you think you can handle it.” 

Tyvairi scoffed. “Of course I can handle it.”

“Great!” Bryn said. “The lower docks are where you’ll find all the beggars and the poor. You’ll also find a grate with a locked door behind it leading to the sewers. The Ratways are filled with crazies and criminals. There’s worse down there than thieves. Within those tunnels is the Ragged Flagon, a tavern where my associates and I handle business. Make it there in one piece and your in.” 

“Sounds simple enough.” Tyvairi teased.

Brynjolf, however, was serious. His face wiped clean of anything but business. He rubbed the back of his neck which the bard was learning he did when he was worried. “I’m not joking, lass. The Ratways are where people go when they don’t want to be found. Deranged skooma addicts, murderers, rapists. I’m not trying to scare you off. I’m just warning you. Be careful.” 

“If it’s so dangerous then why don’t you come with me? You have to go back there anyway right? Besides you owe me a favor.”

The nord shook his head. “That’s not how this works. If you can make it through the Ratways then I won’t have to worry about you getting killed on the job. And I don’t owe you anything. You saved me from a Dibellian whore and I babysat your things. Were even, Tyv.”

The patrolling guard was making his way back toward the pair. Tyvairi casually watched him as she said. “Fine, we're even, but don’t call me Tyv.”

  
She looked back up at Bryn. He was gone. She twisted around in a circle looking everywhere, but the Nord had disappeared. She found herself once again impressed by him. _I wonder which one of us is the better sneak._ The graveyard groaned with the sound of stone rubbing along stone. A shiver ran down her spine and she hurried away from the cemetery. _It can’t really be haunted…….could it?_


End file.
